Until the Last Song is Sung
by Many Sleepless Nights
Summary: Blaine is diagnosed with cancer but because he's 18 and has complete control over his medical information, tells no one. Not Even his boyfriend Kurt a thousand miles away in New York. Unsure if he can handle the fact that he's dying without someone to help him through he starts to break down. He refuses any and all treatment. Chemo won't get in the way of his dreams. Klaine BLANGST
1. Chapter 1

"You're coming next week, right?" Kurt's voice snapped Blaine out of his thoughts. He barely even remembered answering the phone. How did it get into his hand, anyways? Did he even say hello? What was he talking about, again?

"What?" He asked dumbly, still in a dream state between his jumbled mind and reality.

"New York? Next week? Please tell me you didn't forget about the plane tickets I got you for your birthday. Blaine, every time I organize a way for you to come visit, you always have an excuse not to. You're the one who said I've been ignoring you but whenever I attempt to—"

"Kurt," he cut him off, "Kurt, calm down. Of course I'm going down. I just… I didn't hear you the first time."

His voice sounded dead even to himself. The truth was, he did forget about his trip to visit his boyfriend at NYADA, but it wasn't because he was busy or had a bad memory. It was because of the frantic information filling his brain. With that much to think about, he could barely remember his own name anymore.

"Oh, um, sorry." Blaine could practically hear Kurt's eyebrows creasing in confusion, "Blaine, honey, are you okay?"

"What? Of course I'm- I'm fine, just really stressed out." He tried his best to laugh, but it came out more of a sob.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked again, sounding more concerned.

"I said I was fine, okay? I'm just fine." He could barely blurt out the words. He wasn't fine. Not at all. But he couldn't tell anyone, not yet at least. He was finally 18 and, if he didn't want to, he didn't have to tell anybody. He didn't even have to accept treatment.

"You don't sound-"

"Hon, I have to go now. I'll call you later." Blaine rushed, hanging up without so much as an "I love you". Kurt tried to call back. Blaine sent him to voicemail.

He was too busy sobbing in the hospital parking lot, locked in his car to have an afternoon chat. Even if it was Kurt.

_Kurt._

How was he supposed to tell his boyfriend that he-

No. No he couldn't. Kurt would book a plane ticket out of New York and drop out freshman year of college. He would ruin his life, coming back to Lima for the rest of the year. So he couldn't tell him anything. That was that.

But just the thought, of having to go through it alone, made Blaine cringe. He could tell his parents, but they weren't exactly helpful halfway around the world and hardly sober on workdays. Cooper was always an option, but he was finally getting to his dream. Commercial acting wasn't exactly movie star material, but it was something Blaine couldn't take away from his big brother. New directions would make a fuss. They would force him to check into the hospital. They would call Kurt. They probably wouldn't even let him compete with them. He only had so much time left to enjoy performing. He wasn't risking that either.

Trying to pull himself together enough to drive home, Blaine clutched the result papers, crinkling them up. It was the only other sound beside his cries filling the all-too-empty car. Hot years poured down his cheeks, and he could feel himself choking to death. He was crying too hard to breath, too hard to see through his own tears.

He was practically killing himself before the cancer had the chance. And Maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

Don't think like that, he chastised himself, _you don't know that. You can't know that.__  
_  
But he did.  
"You have stage IIIA Lung cancer." the doctor had said, his face grim, "even with treatment, the rate you'll live just 5 years is somewhat slim."

"How slim?" Blaine asked, keeping any and all panic from his voice.

"14%" the man had to avoid eye contact.

14. Only 14 out of every 100 people would live past 5 years. And even if he lived that long, there was no guarantee for 6.

When his breath finally regulated, something that probably wouldn't happen after this thing had progressed, he thought maybe he could think straight. How did he even get fucking lung cancer? He was eighteen, he didn't smoke, he exercised...

But there he was, fingers wrapped around the crumpled sheet with only one relevant thing- lung cancer. 14%.

That was it. He'd be lucky if he made it to college with Kurt next year. Lucky if he'd be healthy enough to even catch a plane there in a year. Lucky if he was alive next year in general.

He started driving before he could change his mind and end up another hour there. He sped down the road as fast as his engine would let him. And when he got home, he stashed his papers in the bottom of a drawer and tried to forget they were there.

"Five years without illness, you're considered cured," the doctor had informed him, trying to sound optimistic.

He should have seen it sooner. The coughing, harsh and frequent mixed with his on and off fevers. The fatigue always taking over his bones, making it hard to even wake up in the morning. The pressure built in his chest for weeks. He thought it was just anxiety, from Kurt moving away and his parents leaving him deserted for a year.

Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Blaine shuffled numbly into his house, trying not to let everything consume him. We could barely make it up the stairs to his bedroom without passing out. Shock, he was going into shock. He sat at his desk, just staring at the hardwood table, listening to Kurt's ringtone play over and over again.

Eventually, when Kurt hadn't failed to stop calling, Blaine had to pick up.

"Hello?" He sighed, knowing he was about to get an earful.

"Blaine? Oh my god, you can't just hang up on me like that! I know you're stressed but," he took a breath, "you sounded like there was something wrong," his speech was slower now, more calm and willing to listen.

_Tell him,_ Blaine demanded of himself, _Now's your chance to tell him._

"Well, Kurt," he started, but his voice wouldn't let him finish. He just made this chocking noise, not quite a sob, but like something an animal would utter.

"Yes...?" Kurt murmured, after minutes of dead air.

"Um, my dad called before you did," he bluffed, "He had some serious things to talk about. You know we don't see eye to eye on things."

That much was true. Blaine and his homophobic father never seemed to tolerate each other. Every conversation always somehow made it back to the topic of Blaine's sexuality in a somewhat negative manner,

"That's all?" Kurt sighed in relief, "I mean, it sucks, but it's nothing new. We can learn to look past it. He can't change the way we feel about each other. He can't change that fact that you're coming to live with me. He won't change anything, and you know it. We'll even look at apartments while you're here."

"Right." Blaine smiled, but his voice broke. Tears filled his vision again, his face scrunching up, making it hard to see anything in front of him but it didn't matter. All he could see anyways was the future he wouldn't get. New York with Kurt, buying an apartment and finishing college, getting married, adopting kids. The jobs he wouldn't have, the people he wouldn't meet. He would never see his 50th anniversary, hell, he wouldn't even see his wedding day. All because of a number. 14.

"Are you... Are you crying?" Kurt asked softly, "Baby, what's wrong? Blaine?"

But Blaine couldn't answer him. Not without spilling everything, anyways. So instead he just said

"I'll see you next week."

"Blaine, don't you dare hang up on-"

But he wasn't listening. He held the phone away from his ear, his thumb hovering over the end call button. He didn't press it. He couldn't. Who knew how long he'd be able to listen Kurt's voice?

"I'm not—I'm not hanging up." Blaine sucked in a shaky breath.

"It has to be more than your dad," Kurt whispered, more to himself than Blaine.

"I just had a really bad day." That had to be the understatement of the century.

"Tell me about it," he soothed, "rant here. I'll listen, no judgment, right?"

Blaine couldn't find his voice. He couldn't will his mouth to form the words

_Kurt, I'm sick,_ he tried to say, _I'm dying._

But they just wouldn't come out. So he did what he always did when he got in a tough spot. He plastered on the infamous Blaine Anderson smile, plastic as could be, and let the mask take over his emotions.

"I'll be okay," he said as reassuringly as he could manage, "I haven't been feeling well, you know that. It was just a lot of stress. I have an exam tomorrow and I'm not prepared at all. My dad's phone all pulled me over the edge. After I get some sleep, I'll be okay."

"You're sure?" Kurt sounded skeptical, "you can't work yourself so hard, honey. It'll kill you."  
_  
__If the cancer doesn't kill me first.__  
_  
"Yeah, I know. I have to be more careful," His face hurt from the forces smile, "starting with some sleep."

"Of course. Call you in the morning?"

It wasn't even that late, only six thirty, but he needed the excuse.

"Yeah. Yeah, and Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." It was a struggle to keep his voice from crackling.

"I love you too."

When he phone went dead, Blaine couldn't tell which emotion was more dominant: the relief, or the loneliness. 


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn't sleep. Even as the sun peeked over the horizon, making the sky glow orange and pink, he couldn't remember catching a wink. Unconsciousness seemed unattainable. Worry and guilt and fear lined his stomach, filled his brain. He couldn't tell whether or not the tightness in his lungs was the sickness, or his own fucking thoughts. We was awake when his alarm went off, trilling him it was time for school. He looked absolutely awful, not even bothering to slick back his wild curls. Maybe they would spill over his forehead and cover up the bruise-like bags under his eyes.

Tina shot him worried looks when he stumbled in late to home room. Sam pursed his lips when he walked by Blaine's locker, but didn't say a word. Everyone seemed to notice the disheveled look in Blaine's eyes. He fell asleep in math class, something he'd never done before. His math teacher was completely alarmed, pushing him to see the nurse.

The nurse can't cure this, he wanted to snap, no one can cure it.

By the time glee club came around, Blaine was close to tears again. He was tired, achey, and downright miserable.

"Are you okay?" Brittany was the first to vocalize her worry. Everyone else's heads snapped up, anxious for his answer.

"Fine," he mumbled, "you know I've been sick."

"Not like this," Tina bit her lip, "I thought you said you went to the doctor yesterday."

"I did." Blaine said tightly.

"And...?" She pressed.

"And nothing. I got meds."

"They aren't working." Pucks step brother scoffed. Blaine just shrugged.

Mr. Shue tried to get Blaine to sing solo right off the bat but, for the first time in his life, Blaine didn't want to. He didn't want to get up, he didn't want to be in front of people, and he didn't want to sing.

"You're sure?" His teacher asked, "you've never turned down a performance before."

"I'm not feeling great," Blaine tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace, "I have to sit this one out."

"Alright," said, warily calling Marley instead. By the time Blaine got home he'd decided- he wasn't going to school tomorrow. McKinley would have to wait.

Tina tried to call him, but he hit the ignore button. Sam texted him a few times, but Blaine didn't reply. Even Kurt, who tried to video chat him for their weekly Skype date was ignored. He fell asleep in his desk chair, waking up only a few hours later as the clock struck 7:00 pm. He slept through two more voicemails from his boyfriend and a missed call from his mother.

_"Hey, I'm worried about you,"_ Kurt's voice filled his ears as he clicked play_, "Tina called earlier. She's worried, too. Blaine, what's going on? I'm not pressing, I just care about your health. You've been really... Distant. You missed our date today and Tina said- it doesn't matter what Tina said. Just, call me back, okay? Please?"_

Sighing, Blaine decided to play the second message. Guilt gnawed at his stomach, listening to his boyfriend's pleas.

_"It's been two hours. I really need to talk to you. Please, if you even care- I just have to know you're okay. God I wish I could just drive to your house and knock some sense into you. You can't ignore me, Blaine. I'm not going away until you open up and talk to me. I love you, just call me."_

Blaine was dialing the number before he could consciously stop himself. The phone barely rang twice before someone picked up.

"Kurt's phone, who am I talking to?"

"Rachel?"

"Blaine? Hey, um, Kurt's out right now... His boss called. I don't really know what's going on, to be honest. Some new policy or something. Apparently, he forgot his phone. And- wait, shit, he's been waiting for you to call all day. Where have you been? I mean, gosh, Blaine. He's worried sick. He was ranting for an hour straight about you and how you over work yourself, and how you're sick, your parents, your habits..."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. Rachel, can you just tell him I called? Tell him I'm fine, I have the flu."

"Oh, Blaine, that sucks. When I had the flu last winter-"

"Yeah, I know, I was there." He tried not to sound rude, "just make sure he knows I'm fine."

"Didn't you say that last time you talked? And from what I hear, you really aren't. I'm your friend too, you know."

"I know," he couldn't help but smile, "really, though. I'll be down there in a week, I shouldn't have gone to McKinley today. I wasn't thinking. I'll have myself pulled together for the trip."

"Anything else you want me to tell him?"

"Just... That I love him. Make sure you tell him that."

"Of course," her voice was warm, "feel better Blainey."

"I'll try."

The next time Kurt called, Blaine was passed out on his couch. He didn't wake up until noon the next morning, when he realized he couldn't breathe. He looked frantically around, gasping for air but it wasn't reaching his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, spluttering and coughing. Using his hands to catch himself, he rolled off of his couch and army crawled his was to the table with the small blue inhaler.

_"This will help,"_ the doctor said, _"with and attacks that might trigger. Push down on the top and breathe in. Hold the air in your mouth ten seconds. And repeat. If it doesn't get better, do it again. No more than five times. If things aren't better by then, call 911."_

He did it once. Twice.

Nothing. He was still chocking on what little air he was breathing in. The tightness was pushing all of the oxygen out of his body, wrappjng around his throat and squeezing it shut. He clawed at his neck, but couldn't feel the scratches his nails were leaving behind.

Three. Four.

The coughing got worse, he could barely even see. His eyesight was blurring at the edges. His thoughts were blurring, too, just a big mess of panic and fear. He couldn't _breathe. _

_This is it, this is how I'm going to die. Alone on my living room floor. And I didn't even get to tell Kurt I love him myself. He has to hear it from Rachel.  
_  
Five.

He breathed in the medication, eyes screwed shut in a painful expression. He was gasping, but there was air. _Air._

He sat, head between legs, on the floor, wheezing it in, trying to stop the spinning in his head. It was like an asthma attack. Blaine had asthma when he was a child, and according to his doctor, hadn't quite grown out of it. Not with his newest ailment anyways.

He should call someone. He really should. But the amount of explaining, the lies he would have to make up, or the burdens he would have to tell.

He decided just sit and wait for the panting to stop, for his labored breaths to even out. But he wasn't sure they ever would. When he'd calmed down enough, he tried to stand. And to his horror, he saw red. Brimming the edges of his eyes, pounding in his head. Red, everywhere. Even on his hands. There was red, sticky and wet on his hands, wiped on his clothes. He could taste it in his mouth, lining his throat. Blood.

He was coughing blood.

He knew it was a symptom, he'd read about it in some pamphlet in the waiting room after his tests. There was Blood-stained mucus, coating his lungs. He knew it was there. He just didn't want to see it.

He'd been expecting it, really. The first hour after they'd told him he spent looking over everything he would go through. This was on the top of the list. Coughing up blood had to come eventually. Up until the diagnosis, his symptoms really did look like the flu.

Achy back muscles, nonstop coughing, loss of appetite, hoarse voice, rough throat, fever, the crash-and-burn tired feeling in his bones... The flu was believable. Probable, even. But this wasn't the flu. It was the farthest from the flu you could possibly get. Cancer.

This was reality for him, and he had to accept it, because without treatment he wasn't getting any better. And with treatment? He would get sicker and sicker until he was either cured or dead.

It was easier just to die, then to die miserable. To make everyone else miserable. He just had to make it a week. If he could survive to see Kurt, maybe he could survive a little longer. Pace himself, always reaching one goal: make it back to him.

_**Feedback would be much appreciated... I'm not 100% sure about continuing this story. If people really like it, I will, but it's about to get pretty depressing. And don't worry, I'm doing my research. According to google symptoms and rates I'm putting on here are factual. I wouldn't quote me on it though haha. Enjoy :) **_


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine didn't go to school Tuesday or Wednesday. He thought about going on Thursday, determined not do wallow in his own self pity, but that plan was ruined when he woke up unable to sit upright because of the pain taking over his back. It passed after an hour, but he wasn't risking it. He couldn't afford any kind of attack or spasm at McKinley,

_I'm 18_, he kept reminding himself,_ I don't have to tell anyone. My medical business is confidential._

And he stuck to it. He spent Friday trying to clean himself up, showering for the first time in way too long. He gelled his hair, brushed his teeth, and checked his phone just like any other morning. 5 new voicemails 13 missed calls, 21 unread messages.

Shit.

Most of them consisted of things along the lines of  
_  
Are you okay?  
Why are you absent?  
Feel better!_

But there was one contact in particular that got to him.

_I love you._

Kurt left him 3 of the 5 voicemails, 11 texts, and four calls.

_Shit!  
_  
He listened to them one by one, anxiously biting his lips. They were mostly just check-in calls: was he okay? Was he still coming to NYC? Had he kicked his bout of flu in the ass yet? Hopefully he was feeling better...

Guilty, Blaine called him back. It was pretty early, but he knew his boyfriend would be up, probably already at the office.

"Blaine?" He picked up on the first ring, "oh my god I thought you were dead or something."

"Nope," _not yet anyways_, "just getting my fill of sleep."

"I'd say," he could literally hear Kurt rolling his eyes, "so, you're good now? Alls well?"

"Yes sir. I'm not heading to school, though. I overslept and vacations starting soon anyways."

"This is going to be perfect," he squealed, "thanksgiving, Blaine! You're coming for thanksgiving! My dad and Carole should be down maybe, like, two days after you. And they're leaving the day before you do so there's three days 100% to ourselves," his tone changed, and Blaine could almost see Kurt's smirk through the phone line, "and every night seems to be free according to my calendar, if you'd like to join me in the bedroom. Or we can do something like that now, if you'd like."

"Kurt Hummel, are you begging for phone sex? What kind of a guy do you think I am?"

"An incredibly sexy one who I happen to miss very, very much."

"Enough to want phone sex?" Blaine laughed for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Not quite. I'm sure we can save it for tomorrow."

"Are you sure I'll be able to handle sex immediately after a five plus hour plane ride?"

"Positive. Your sex-drive capabilities never cease to amaze me Mr. Anderson."

Blaine laughed again, but it ruptured into a violent cough. Kurt waited patiently, asked he was okay like any good boyfriend would, and continued the conversation. For once, Blaine was glad for his nonchalant attitude. Easier to get away with everything if Kurt was pretending not to notice.

But even if he got away with it for five days of being with Kurt, he couldn't get away with it for the rest of his life. Even if that life was less than five years more, Blaine could hardly think of living like that for five weeks more,

"So you really want to look?" Kurt cut off his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah. I want to... Look." He had no idea what they were even talking about.

"Wow. Really, wow. I mean, I knew we'd be living together next year. I just... I love the idea of living with you the rest of our lives."

"Yeah," the pang in Blaine's heart made it hard to say anything more. He wasn't going to cry, though. He was done crying.

It was almost noon when Kurt finally pulled the conversation to close.

"I've literally gotten nothing done today," he laughed.

"Well than you better go, babe, I'll see you soon."

"Pick you up at the airport when your flight gets in?"

"mmhmm…" Blaine sighed, closing his eyes, "I love you."

He was going to say it as much as he could, while he still could.

"No fair, you never let me say it first."

"Would you like to say it and let me reply?"

"No, because then you get to say it twice."

"You're being childish," Blaine rolled his eyes. Kurt didn't reply, making Blaine picture the adorable pout that was most definitely taking over his face. Neither of them spoke for a moment, until Kurt huffed and gave in.

"Fine, I guess I love you too."

"You guess?"

"Don't worry, it's a good guess."

"Better be. I'd bet my life on a gamble like that."

"I know you would," Kurt smiled, but all Blaine could think was_ not that my life would be worth very much anyways. There's hardly any of it left. _

He spent the rest of the afternoon packing, something he'd put off for far too long. He was better, well enough to be able to match his clothes, and prayed to god he'd be okay enough to catch a plane at six in the morning.

_Six in the morning_, just the thought made him want to hurl all of the food he hadn't eaten in the last three days. Figuring he should probably stomach something, Blaine grabbed a granola bar on the counter. And then two more. His stomach was like a black hole, needing more and more food. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was. He hadn't eaten in, god, how long? He couldn't take care of himself anymore. He was either starving to death or sick or, well, Cancer really was a bitch. Whose idea was it to leave him alone?

He kept eating, hoping to regain some of his missing energy, but the minute he was done stuffing his face with peanut butter chocolate chip granola bars, the fatigue came back. Blaine couldn't remember a time when he wasn't tired anymore. The bruise colored bags under his eyes seemed to have made a permanent appearance on his face. His pallor paled, dimmed down just like every other feature. He was dulling, and he couldn't even begin to stop it.

By the time he was done eating and cleaning his act up, Blaine was certain he'd faint. He wanted to sleep, but he was terrified of sleeping and not waking up. Not in the sense of dying, but in the sense if sleeping through his alarm and missing his plane. Groaning internally, he knew he really only had one ensured option.

"Ello?" Sam answered the phone, despite it being half-way through the glee club meeting Blaine was missing.

"Hey, can I ask a favor?"

"Well, good morning sunshine. Haven't heard from you in a while," Blaine could hear the muffled noises in the background.

_"Who is it?" _someone asked.

_"Sam, phones away." _Most-likely Mr. Shue hissed

_"It's Blaine!" _He could hear Sam whine, his head turned away from the receiver.

"I'm sick, man," Blaine excused, in response to his friend's earlier comment.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Look I'm putting you on speaker Dude. Say hi to the crew."

"Hi, crew," He was trying to be polite, really, he was, but he needed to get it done already, ensure his wake up call and go to _bed. _

A chorus of hello's, demands about why he hadn't bothered to call, and the occasional 'feel better; erupted from his phone. He chuckled a bit to himself, rolling his eyes at his overly-excited friends. It was just a stupid phone call, after all. He should have just had Kurt call him in the morning…

"Okay guys," Blaine laughed more openly now, "I have a job for you."

"Anything!" Someone—assumingly Brittney— piped up.

"Okay, well, you all know about my trip to New York?"

"You're still going?" It was definitely the concerned voice of his teacher, less focused on the meeting and more on Blaine's health now.

"Yeah, I'm a lot better. I can handle it. But, see, my sleep timer's a little out of whack from sleeping in and everything," by out of what he meant as far off from 'whack' as it could fucking get.

"And…?" One of the guy freshman prompted.

"And, five thirty I want everyone to call me, text me, leave voicemails of you screaming bloody-murder. If I don't respond, someone drive over and get my ass out of bed. There's no way I can miss this flight."

Murmurs of agreement buzzed through from the other line.

"You guys are the best," Blaine sighed.

"It's good to hear you're doing better," Mr. Shuester had taken over the phone, "We need you here, man."

"We're falling apart!" Someone laughed.

"Love you, Blaine!" Probably-Tina shouted. Everyone else chimed in with 'We all love you!'s.

"I don't know what we'd do without you, man," Sam sighed good-heartedly, but hearing those words sent worry and guilt through Blaine's stomach.

What would they do without him? He guessed they'd just have to figure that out, wouldn't they?

_**Okay, well, don't forget to review and give me some tips and suggestions :) I love hearing from you **_


	4. Chapter 4

** Warning this chapter contains a little bit o smut**

It took eight phone calls, four texts, and one obnoxiously loud alarm to wake Blaine up in the morning. And despite going to bed at four in the afternoon the day before, he still planned to sleep the whole plane ride to New York. Was that seriously what it had come two? Waking up only to count the hours until he was asleep again?

He stumbled out of bed, trying his best to do his hair the normal Blaine-Anderson way, but it was just a messy mop of unorganized curls. He thought about giving up and just going to the airport, but he knew Kurt would automatically assume something was wrong when he came off the plane looking like he'd barely gotten up in the morning. Yes, he barely got out of bed that morning, but that didn't mean he had to worry his boyfriend. When he finally looked presentable, dressed and gelled, ready to go, Blaine grabbed his suitcase and practically skipped to his car. Was it wrong to be excited? It felt like that, like he shouldn't be happy. Because the terminally ill were supposed to be solemn and depressed. Well, maybe not depressed, but not _skipping down the fucking steps. _His mind was trying to tell him it was irrational, that seeing Kurt wouldn't make anything better, but the rest of him wouldn't listen. _I'll be okay there, _he thought, _things will feel okay again. Just wait. _

And things were better. Almost.

Seeing Kurt there, waiting patiently at the gates, two coffees in hand, made Blaine frantically push past the people in front of him, disrupting the somewhat orderly line of passangers streaming out to meet their families. He nearly wiped him out, throwing his arms around him. The coffee splashed up, but hit the top of the lid, saving them from excessive burning.

"Woah there," Kurt laughed, still trapped in the embrace, "Hot coffee, hot coffee."

"Sorry," Blaine blushed, but didn't let go. He would have to be pried off with a crowbar. Kurt shifted, turning so that Blaine could hold his hand instead, for fear off suffocation. Just seeing him, Blaine wanted to Burst out crying. _You have to tell him, _his annoying subconscious grumbled, _Now. He had to know. He has a right. _But Blaine pushed it to the back of his mind. He wasn't ruin it. He couldn't ruin this. It was just too important.

"How was the ride over?" Kurt smiled, wide and excited. In that moment, Blaine chose not to tell him he almost had to use a barf bag and spent the whole trip with his eyes screwed shut, trying not to cry while remembering to breathe.

"Fine," He mumbled instead, not looking his boyfriend in the eyes.

"Well, I have plenty planned for us this week," Kurt cheered, "We can do whatever you'd like. We can walk around, tour the city. I can introduce you to my friends. I think theres a cheap concert playing in the city I might be able to get us into…" Blaine frowned.

"I thought we were staying in?" It came out like a question, trying not to let the fear seep into his voice. He was having trouble enough walking through the airport. There was no way in hell his lungs could handle a tour of New York city, or a scream-filled concert.

"We can do that too," Kurt winked, mistaking the slight tremor of his voice as sexual instead of fear-filled worry. The air was frigid, exiting through the sliding doors The cool, crisp New York air made Blaine cough. And he didn't stop coughing.

"You okay?" Kurt rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"F-fine," he muttered, "Its just really cold."

"Your coat isn't exactly warm," he eyed Blaine, tugging on the thin green material of his sweatshirt, "Guess we'll have to go shopping for real winter wear. Things'll get a lot colder when actual snow starts falling."

They walked hand in hand until Kurt released his grip. Blaine looked hurt for a moment, before he saw him pull his fingers up to his lips and blow. A loud whistle came out, piercing Blaine's eardrums. "Taxi! Taxi!" He called bringing his hands up again to whistle.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked him, as a classic yellow checkered cab pulled up.

"What, the whistle? Rachel taught me." Kurt grinned.

"And where did Rachel learn?"

"Oh, that's not my story to tell," He laughed, climbing in to the—thankfully heated— car. Kurt paid the driver before Blaine could even reach to get his wallet.

"Relax, you're my guest, remember?"

"I'm your boyfriend. There's a difference," _The difference is, my money's worthless after I'm dead. There's no need to waste yours. _A pang of hurt hit his chest, making him flinch. Why couldn't his mind just shut up for two seconds so he could spend some time with the person he loved?

_Because you can't torment yourself after you're dead either, _it answered for him.

"Everything okay?" Kurt placed his hand on top of Blaine's, sensing the sudden shift in mood.

"Yeah," he stuttered out, "Long flight." _But not a long life. _"Shut up." He grumbled to himself, under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Are we almost—"

"Here," Kurt looked out the window, "We're here."

They unpacked wordlessly, Blaine trying to stop his constant stream of thoughts and Kurt trying not to worry about the very reserved, blank look on his face as he did.

"Are we okay?" Kurt blurted out before he could stop himself. Blaine did his best to act confused.

"Of course we are," he smiled, _but that doesn't mean I am. _Kurt nodded, trying equally as hard to believe him as Blaine was to get away with it. He knew something wasn't right, but Blaine wasn't going to tell him. He couldn't tell him.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, staring at each other for a long time, and Blaine thought he might've burst into tears then and there.

"Kurt I—" He tried. He really, really tried, but he just started chocking up. He couldn't get anything but strangled noises and suffocated babbles s to come out.

"What? What is it?" The intensity in Kurt's eyes was enough for him. Before he knew what he was doing, before he could think it through, his lips were on his, practically straddling him on the somewhat ratty sofa.

_This is wrong, _Blaine thought, _I can't fuck him and then die with no explanation. _He couldn't lead Kurt on, let him expect a future that he knew was impossible. But in that moment— one heated moment with months of sexual build up between them and nobody else in the empty New York apartment— He just chose not to care. Everywhere Kurt's lips touched left a white-hot feeling on his skin, burns up and down his neck, tracing along his collar bone. And the burns hurt so much more than the one in his lungs, and they hurt more than the coughing and the pain of finding out you were going to die. They weren't just an ache. They were scalding reminders. Because every kiss could be his last. He was driving himself mad, trying to stop himself, trying to get the words out, trying not to let his concentration go out the window. Instead, it all focused on the source of his agony. All he could see was Kurt. Kurt, undressing. Kurt, undressing him. Kurt, moaning his name, begging for more. It was just an endless stream of _Kurt. _And that made everything burn so much hotter, because he knew one day he wouldn't be there to see him at all.

His boyfriend just kept adding fuel to the masochistic fire blazing across Blaine's skin, lighting in his veins. He ran his fingers through his sloppy mess of hair, pushing him back down onto the sofa. He could feel everything getting hotter, his abdomen starting to shift.

"Kurt," he whined, too far gone to feel anything but the painful mix of lust and guilt, along with the throb of his body, moving in sync with his heartbeat. He was in just boxers now, trying to keep himself under control. His cock had a different plan in mind, slowly starting to feel his arousal.

"I know," Kurt's hand grabbed him, making Blaine cry out. He was shushed, as Kurt slid down to take both of their boxers off, "I'll help." Before he could object, the pain scorching his chest and neck had made its way downwards, Kurt's mouth wrapping around Blaine, pumping in and out, while his own hand took care of his situation.

By the time they had finished, Blaine had almost had another attack. His shortness of breath was taken for desire and surprise. He actually had to excuse himself to use his inhaler in the bathroom.

"Baby, is everything alright?" A knock was heard from the other side of the door.

"Fine," Blaine jumped, "I'm just going to shower."

"Can I come in?" Kurt tried to sound seductive, and god was it working, but it was all starting to set in. The shamefulness taking over Blaine's body, realizing what he'd done. Sex was never a light matter to him and, no it wasn't his first time and of course they were in love, but he was _lying. _The closer and closer they got, the worse it would be when Blaine was gone.

_Dead, _his voice reminded him, _not just gone, but dead. You aren't moving away or going missing. You're dying, and there's no way to come back from that. _

"I-I think," Blaine had to close his eyes to keep the tears swimming in his eyes from spilling over, "I think I'm going to take it alone."

He could hear Kurt's wounded intake of breath from behind the white wooden door, and felt the world falling apart around him.

"Oh." There was so much sadness in the little two letter word. Blaine wished he could make it go away. Make everything just go away.

"No, no, I don't— you didn't, like do anything wrong, I just—" He was about to reach the little golden knob, about to twist it open to see his ego-stricken love, but he stopped himself.

"It's fine," Kurt mumbled, "Just embarrassing. No, not—Sorry. I'm, I mean, it's okay."

When he heard the footsteps getting further and further from the bathroom, he let out a frustrated roar, swiping his hand across the sink to knock over the various bottles and soaps littering the marble sink top. There was a crash, a perfume bottle in shards as the strong chemical sent filled his shit lungs.

His head hit harshly against the door, and he slid down slowly, closing his eyes and leaning himself up against it. He sat there like that for a while, hating himself and his body and the whole fucking world.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, to no one but himself. Kurt was too far away to hear.


	5. Chapter 5

Rejection. He had rejected Kurt. It was obvious, at the tense dinner table, there when Rachel walked in. She ignored it, but it was there, looming over them in a cloud of regret and embarrassment. He knew it would be over soon, that his boyfriend would forgive him by the next morning, but worry still seeped into Blaine's body. Where was he going to sleep? On the couch? Kurt wouldn't want him in bed with him. Or maybe he would, but he wasn't exactly in the mood to be seduced. Or to be alone with him. Embarrassed, angry Kurt was not a fun Kurt.

And to put the fucking cherry on top of his problems, Blaine couldn't stop coughing, either. The coughs were too loud in the awkwardly silent air, keeping anyone else from trying to start the awkward small talk. He was almost thankful.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked, so quietly it was almost a whisper. Kurt looked between them, like he wanted to either interject or take her place next to him. But he didn't talk or move, just staring, undecided whether to still be humiliated or concerned. Blaine just nodded. He wasn't sure if she'd meant health wise, or regarding the obstinate tension. Either way, he wasn't considered 'okay.' He was dying, and his boyfriend hated him. Perfect.

It wasn't a full-on attack, just a constant block in his throat, threatening to choke him up if he didn't cough it out first. So he just coughed, and coughed, and the he couldn't _stop _coughing. The little throat clears turned violet, and Kurt's expression changed immediately.

"Blaine, are you okay?" He sounded nervous, more uncertain about his health than Rachel.

"Fine," He spluttered, trying to suck in a breath of oxygen.

'Just… settle down. God, was it this bad all week? It was, wasn't it?"

"What?"

"You're still sick," Kurt clicked his tongue, "This flu bug, you haven't shaken it yet, have you? God, Blaine, you could have told me that. I wouldn't have—," He made a noise, remembering Rachel's presence before finishing the sentence, "You know."

Blaine just nodded, unsure how to answer the question. He was sick alright, but it wasn't some flu bug.

"How bout' we go lay down on the couch?" Kurt asked, like he was speaking to a small child, or a lost puppy he wanted to take home.

"No, Kurt I-" But he was already halfway there, and the reality of lethargy started seeping into his bones. He felt heavy, heavier than he'd been before at least. He just wanted to sleep forever.

"We'll watch a movie."

"Yeah?" Blaine had to smile at the stupid idea.

"We always do, remember? When one of us is sick, we watch sappy romance movies."

"And you packed them for New York? I thought I'd inherited most of them."

"I kept one," Kurt winked, "Our favorite."

But they had so many favorites, Blaine couldn't put a finger on what one he was talking about. Every time a movie was popped into the dvd player, it was automatically Kurt's _'favorite' _and Blaine was more than happy to agree with him, even if it was the worst piece of film he'd ever seen.

Rachel came to join them, sitting in the chair next to the sofa where Blaine was laying, his head resting on his boyfriend's lap.

"Which one is it?" He mumbled, trying not to let his eyes droop. If he fell asleep, he wouldn't be up in a week.

"It's a surprise," Kurt whispered.

Just as he was nuzzling up to Kurt's body, starting to relax, his eyes were snapped open. He knew this opening scene, the movie. He knew, and it made him sick to his stomach.

"We're watching… A Walk To Remember?" He stuttered out, feeling his veins chill, like they'd been filled with shots of ice water. It would sure as hell be a movie night to remember.

"You love this one," Kurt nodded, "Tell me every time."

"But it's… it's sad."

"So is the Titanic, but that doesn't make it a bad movie."

_This is what I get, _he scoffed mentally, _I hide my illnesses from Kurt and I end up watching a movie about a girl who does the same. _

He spent more than half of the film trying to contain himself. He knew how it ended. She told him she was dying, and he flipped shit. He forgave her, they got married… and she died. He tells her father she changed his life and how he'll always love her, and the credits roll. Romantic, and tragic. Story of his life.

Blaine watched as Landon, the main character, talked about his deceased love interest, Jamie with her father, upset and trying to make amends. He was trying to tell him about his success, the wonderful things that Jamie did to his life. All Blaine could do was look at Kurt and wonder if Kurt would become a successful doctor, and a perfect person because of his soon to be death. But then he realized, Kurt was already successful, going to the school of his dreams, living in the city with his best friend. That his boyfriend was already an amazing person. That maybe he hadn't really had to teach Kurt anything at all. The characters on the screen relived some memories, Landon talking about miracles. Jamie's dad called Landon a miracle, saying that he helped his daughter through so much. And even if Blaine couldn't picture Kurt and his dad speaking like that for a million years, he knew it was true. Kurt was the only constant. The only person 100% there, even across the country. It didn't matter if Blaine believed in miracles or not, believed in god or not, because the closest thing he would get to perfection at that point was the person sitting with him on the couch.

"You okay?" Kurt whispered, amusement playing on his face. He thought Blaine was just being a softie, crying over this fictional couple's struggle. But it wasn't the sappiness that got to him. It was the reality.

"Yeah," Blaine choked out, "You know how this movie makes me."

"I like to see the emotional side of you every once and a while." He winked, and Blaine blanched. He wanted emotional? Maybe he should have tried taking a look into his mind. Or better yet, a look into his medical records. That was where shit got emotional.

Towards the end of the film, there were tears pouring down his eyes, and Blaine was trying to keep the sobs from wracking his body. This was how it was all going to end. He would tell Kurt and Kurt would either hate him for it, or forgive him. Either way, Blaine would end the story in a coffin and Kurt would end up above ground, upset and unable to completely move on. It didn't matter who knew or who didn't. It didn't matter who hated him and who didn't. Even the movies don't always get happy endings. So why should he?

Blaine Anderson was going to die, and there was no way around it.

**_This was kind of a bitch to write, but I got past the emotions and the writers block (Sorry for the wait) and here you have it. Dont forget to review... it keeps me motivated! Thanks for reading!_**


	6. Chapter 6

_People who have been told they have cancer may wonder whom to tell and how they should tell them. They often feel pressured to share their diagnosis, but most people are able to wait until they are ready. There is no set time when people begin to feel comfortable enough to discuss their cancer with others. It's different for each person._ Blaine read from the tiny screen of his phone, lighting the dark room. Kurt had been asleep for hours, now, the clock close to striking three in the morning. He hadn't slept in too long. He was afraid that if he did, he might not wake up in the morning. That he might not wake up at all. So he's been googling, researching, every possible way to let Kurt down gently. How to speak to the Glee club. How to handle his big brother. But nothing was helping, not even the countless articles written by cancer patients themselves. They all had the same fucking point: Tell them, they'll help you. But there were no guidelines for what to do if you didn't want their help, there was no help when it came to not accepting treatment.

Blaine looked at the sleeping Kurt out of the corner of his eye, and tried not to cry. How could he break his heart? This was the worst thing he would ever have to say to anyone. It was worse than breaking up, worse than cheating, and worse that a sudden departure. If Blaine just died in a car accident, he wouldn't have the chance to be blamed for his choices. If he'd cheated, Kurt would be allowed to hate him and move on. This whole thing was worse-case scenario.

"What do I do?" He muttered to himself, clicking the home button of his iPhone, to do the only thing he could think of. Queen music started filling the air around them, Freddie Mercury's voice singing through the speakers. Kurt stirred next to him but stayed unconscious. Blaine tried to lose himself in the notes and lyrics, but everything matched up too well.

_There's no time for us,_

_There's no place for us,_

_What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us._

_Who wants to live forever,_

_Who wants to live forever?_

_There's no chance for us,_

_It's all decided for us,_

_This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us._

That deep, empty feeling hit Blaine's stomach cutting off the air to his lungs as he looked at the sleeping boy curled at his side. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to just look at him. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do it without the pain and reminders, anymore, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. The pain kept him conscious of reality. He was afraid that, maybe if he got too comfortable, he'd forget that every breath could be his last. He couldn't afford to forget that.

_Who wants to live forever,_

_Who dares to love forever,_

_When love must die._

But, god, he couldn't stand the thought of loneliness, even if he wasn't alive to sense his own. He didn't like to think about _after. _When someone would see his boyfriend at a bar, and ask if he was single, and how Kurt would have to say yes over and over again, the reminder of Blaine's dumbass decisions keeping him from going out with anyone else. And after, when eventually someone would ask him and Kurt would say yes again, but without the sadness, and let the guy buy him a drink and live in an apartment with him and adopt kids and get married. After, when Kurt would say no, he wasn't single, but instead of thinking about Blaine, he would think about this new guy and how much he loved him. How his last kiss would never be Blaine. How eventually, whenever Kurt thought about love, he would never even think to spare a thought for his long-gone fling of a boyfriend. They were just a tragic love story the Kurt was bound to forget about.

And as selfish as it was, Blaine didn't really wasn't him to forget at all. He didn't want Kurt to move on. He wanted him to be happy, of course, but not with someone else. Never with someone else. Blaine just couldn't bear to be forgotten.

_But touch my tears with your lips,_

_Touch my world with your fingertips,_

_And we can have forever,_

_And we can love forever,_

_Forever is our today,_

Blaine only really had now, even if now was tainted with a heart-crushing lie, it was all he could be sure of. He had friends, and solos to sing, and Kurt. He had an ignorantly happy Kurt, who didn't know anything enough to ruin his happiness. And that was what Blaine liked, the happiness. But he also had cancer. And a broken heart. And a broken mind to go along with it.

_Who wants to live forever,_

_Who wants to live forever,_

_Forever is our today,_

_Who waits forever anyway?_

"Wake up," Blaine nudged his boyfriend on sudden realization, "Kurt, wake up," the frantic tone of his voice was seeping through, panic staining his features.

"mhuh?" Kurt grumbled, his eyes adjusting to the dark only to see a near-to-tears Blaine shaking him awake, "are you— is everything…?" His mouth couldn't form the words, yet. He wasn't conscious enough to carry conversation.

"I just—"

"What? What is it?"

"I forgot to tell you I loved you before you fell asleep," his words came out rushed, like he was trying to get them out of his system as fast as possible. Kurt's eyebrows creased in confusion.

"What?" He squinted, rolling over to check the clock on his phone. None of what Blaine was saying registered in his brain, "it's three in the morning," he coughed, "What the fuck is going on?"

"I just love you," he'd calmed down, embarrassed now for freaking out and making a scene over three little words.

"You could have told me that in about five hours," Kurt chuckled, realizing what was going on, without actually realizing what was going on. His coherency was coming back, but his ignorance was as string as ever.

"I know I just— I don't know. Go back to bed. I'm sorry… I— sorry."

"I love you too, you know," he mumbled, rolling back over into sleeping position, "Even if you're some crazy loon who wakes me up in the ungodly hours of the morning for a lovey-dovey little chat. What, did you have a nightmare? Are you okay?" He was only half-listening for a response, already half-asleep.

"No," Blaine said, _but I'm living one. _

"m'kay. So you're okay? Everything's… okay…" He was trying so hard not to doze off, but Blaine just kissed his forehead.

"I'm fine. I'm so sorry, and I'm fine. Go back to sleep. I'll tell you again in the morning."

_If I'm still alive in the morning. _

"Shut up." He mumbled to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, go back to bed. I love you. You have to know I love you.

Blaine put that song on repeat, and reminded himself never to forget to say he loved him ever again. He didn't want his last words to be some stupid pun or a lousy side-comment. They were going to be romantic and bittersweet, and something worth remembering, even if he had to say them at three am. Blaine Anderson was worth remembering.

**_Sorry it took so long! I've been studying for midterms (Ew.) so this week and next week are kinda hard for me. I'm tryin' my best... Hope you liked it. this one was written kinda weirdly, like a songfic but also just awkwardly sad. I dunno I kind of liked it, but tell me what you think! Ps I promise this is relevant and not just some random filler chapter. I don't roll like that. Enjoy Martin Luther King day!_**


	7. Chapter 7

"Happy Thanksgiving!" Blaine was awakened by his boyfriend's voice on Thanksgiving morning. He tried to flush the proper amount of excitement into his features, but it was all wrong. Squeezing out real emotions was a rare occurrence. He would just have to get better with his acting.

"Happy Thanksgiving," He nodded, not because he agreed, but because that was what he was supposed to say, what Kurt expected him to say. But, really, what was so happy about it?

"My family got in this morning… I let you sleep in. Sounded like you had a rough night. You never used to snore."

_I never used to have cancer either, but bodies change. _

"Uh, yeah," He mumbled, "What time's it? How long have they been here?"

"Couple hours. We're about to have lunch."

Blaine bolted upright in surprise and irritation. Lunch? As in midday?

"Jesus, Kurt, why didn't you wake me up? They probably think I'm being an asshole, sleeping in and not even bothering to—"

"Please, have you met my father?"

"So _not_ the point," Blaine snapped, "I can't just sleep all day! How long do I even have to spend with you? A week? I don't want to waste it sleeping. How is it already noon?"

"One o clock," Kurt avoided eye contact, "I said lunch, not noon."

Blaine just groaned, shoving his head in the pillow.

"Calm down," Kurt rubbed his back, "You shouldn't be so upset about it. You're overreacting hon. My dad and Carole understand, you've been sick and busy and travelling…and as for me, we have the rest of our lives to be together."

"It might not be as long as you think. Who knows what'll happen tomorrow? Or the day after? We just don't know how much longer—" Blaine tried to explain, without actually explaining.

"I do. I know tomorrow, I'll wake up next to you, and you'll smile when I kiss you awake. And I know we'll do something fun together, like stay in and play board games and watch movies, or go out for a walk down main street together, and take lots of pictures for you to take home. I know you'll go back to Lima soon, but I know you'll call me every night and face time me at least twice a week. I know you'll talk about me to New Directions, about the things we saw, and the games we played. And I know you'll miss me, but it's okay, because you'll be visiting again over winter break and we can go ice skating under the city lights and I'll let you borrow my jacket, because I know you'll never buy one on your own, and one of us will probably catch a cold, so we'll have soup every night until you leave. But you'll keep coming back. And someday, you won't have to leave."

"And how do you know that?" Blaine asked, longing filling his chest.

"I just do," They stared at each other for a long-lasting moment, and Blaine worried Kurt would find a glint of uncertainty in his eyes, that his boyfriend would somehow see through to him, but the loving tension was broken, "Okay, mister, get dressed. I'm almost done with the pies, but you can help."

"You were baking?"

"Hell no. Defrosting. And I ordered the Turkey from a local caterer, but don't tell Carole that."

"Never," he crossed his heart with his fingers for emphasis, grateful for the lightened mood.

He was greeted with hugs and cheers entering the dining room. Rachel had gone back to Lima for the holidays, leaving Blaine alone with the in-laws. Well, supposed to be in laws, assuming he'd live long enough to actually get married.

They re-watched the Macey's day parade which Kurt had recorded due to Blaine's lack of presence earlier in the day when it was actually on. He made small talk, because no matter how comfortable he got with Burt and Carole, they would always be his boyfriend's dad and stepmom. He even helped them get ready for their evening meal, decorating and making the (box mix) mashed potatoes. By the time dinner was set up and ready, Blaine was practically dead on his feet, even though he could have only been awake for five hours, max.

"Shake a leg, sleepyhead," Kurt laughed, tugging him to the table. They said grace on behalf of Carole's instance that it was thanksgiving, and despite whether or not everybody at the table believed in god, they could at least express some gratitude to whatever was responsible for their good fortune. And Blaine agreed with her, too, until she started to speak.

"Lord," She said, ducking her head down, "Thank you for all that you've given us. For the meal on our table, and the people we have with us. And thank you, for keeping us all healthy and safe. Thank you for showing us your love through keeping us out of harm's way. We pray for the dead and the dying, that they be saved from hell and live eternally in peace. We thank you for our lack of loss, and that you'll supply for those less fortunate. We pray to you, Amen."

Kurt rolled his eyes in the kind of "She does this every meal" sort of way, but Blaine's eyes held so much more than that. They held fear. _Pray for the dying and the dead, _She had said as if there was no difference between the two. Maybe there wasn't. He felt pretty dead, already.

"Alright, dig in," Burt smiled, reaching for the bowl of cranberry sauce. The thing was, Blaine wasn't really that hungry any more. He tried to scan his mind to remember whether loss of appetite was a symptom, or if he was just being irrational, but it felt like there were bricks weighing in his stomach, being cemented one on top of the other, a wall building through his entire torso.

"You okay?" Kurt nudged his shoulder. He seemed to be getting asked that question a lot. Maybe that was a good thing. Or maybe it meant he'd get caught. It didn't really matter, though. Either way he'd be a dead man walking. Either way, his among would end a note too short.

"Yup," He smiled, "Dazing off I guess."

He had to force a spoonful of the first thing on his plate into his mouth.

"I thought you hated cooked carrots?"

But the truth was, he couldn't taste anything at all.

"Not this kind, I guess."

When dinner was over, The Hummel-Anderson couple left for their last-minute hotel and Blaine booked upstairs as fast as he could, only slightly guilty about not sticking around to help with clean up. He felt sick, like he was going to throw up all of the two bites he'd eaten at supper. He didn't cry, or have to use his inhaler. He just clutched his stomach and begged not to feel so sick. He knew what it was, having anxiety since the day he turned thirteen, but he just wanted it to go away. This feeling in the pit of his stomach was designed for the deepest kind of sadness. He was physically sick just thinking about it, now. The inevitable death surrounding him. He was afraid. What the hell did he even have to be grateful for?

He wasn't sure how long he'd been like that, but it was too long for Kurt to still be doing dishes. And even if all Blaine wanted to do was curl up and die, Kurt was his main priority. He trudged down the hall, ready to tell Kurt he wasn't feeling well and had to go to bed early, when he saw his phone sitting on the small glass coffee table.

Confused, Blaine bent over to pick up the little black device, turning the iphone around in his hands with his eyebrows pulled together and his lips pursed; hadn't he left it in the kitchen? The room was eerily silent and dim, the only light coming from the next room over, barely illuminating the objects around him.

"I spilled red wine on the carpet trying to get the dishes cleaned up," A voice sounded from behind him. Blaine spun around to see the shadow of his boyfriend walking towards him, "My phone was upstairs, so I figured I could just use yours to look up how to get stains out…"

"Yeah, that's fine I'm not upset I just—"

"Were you even going to tell me?" He could see Kurt's face now, hear the brokenness of his voice.

"What?" Blaine took a step back in both surprise and worry.

"Were you going to tell me?" He repeated, sounding more fragile than before, like he was a tiny ant trying to talk to a human ready to stomp on his home.

"Tell you what?" Blaine asked, "Kurt, honey, you're scaring me. What's going on? What did you—?"

"You forgot to clear your history, Blaine!" Kurt screamed violently, his voice cracking.

"Kurt—"

"You weren't, were you? That why the page opened up to an article titled 'To Tell, Or Not to Tell,' right?"

"Really, we just need to talk, I don't think—"

"You're dying, and you weren't even going to tell me. You were just going to _die _and leave me alone with no one? That's not— It's not _right! _It's just—You're so—_" _There were tears coming down in a constant stream, dripping off of his chin.

"_Kurt," _Blaine chocked out, watching the older boy's lips tremble, his shiny reddened eyes filled with betrayal and confusion and pain as he struggled to find the right thing to say. Blaine tried to reach out and press his hand to the side of his blotchy, wet cheeks, but Kurt stiffly ducked away in an awkward, choppy movement, backing away like he was afraid of him. Like he was afraid to be anywhere _near _him,

"I-I have to go," he looked up at the ceiling to blink back more tears, squeezing his eyes shut.

"You can't," Anxiety was building up in Blaine's chest, as he tried not to hyperventilate, "You can't leave me."

"I just... I have to process what's going on... I can't look at you and…" Kurt had his lips pressed into a tight white line, shaking his head frantically as he backed towards the door.

"Don't." he sobbed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just can't. I can't do this."

"Kurt—" Blaine moaned in agony, but the door had already clicked shut.

And then Blaine was alone, with nothing but the darkness and the silence, and the way Kurt looked at him with unbelieving disappointment burning into his mind

_**hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha I hate myself for writing this chapter. It was intended to be a fluffy little holiday piece and then all of a sudden my hands were typing something not-so-happy. So I'm really sorry about this. Anyways, here's the update. I hoped you enjoyed. Pleaseeee tell me what you think, and feel free to request any plot lines or have a nice little discussion with me over pm :) Thanks for reading!**_


	8. Chapter 8

Despite his Boyfriend's promises from the day before, Blaine did not wake up to Kurt, kissing him awake. He was not smiling, as his eyes fluttered open in the early hours of the morning. He did not play any games or watch any movies, and he didn't dare leave the apartment. There was no one there to do them with, no one to sit with or laugh with, or hold hands with, walking down Main street like Kurt told him they would. Blaine woke up painfully alone, and wondered if it would be like that for the rest of his life. Not that he would have to do it much longer, anyways. There were no messages on his phone, voicemails or texts. There was no note taped by his bedside, or an email in his inbox when he logged onto Kurt's dinosaur computer. There was no incoherent mumblings of a different conversation in the room over, no one even there to talk with at all. The lights were off in every room, and Blaine had the urge to keep it that way. He was afraid to see himself in the mirror, and even more afraid of what would be staring back.

The funny thing was, though, that he wasn't crying. He had at first, when the door clicked and everything started falling apart, so hard actually, that he thought he was going to vomit from the gagging his tears were causing. But then, when he'd exhausted himself and passed out on the couch where he'd been thrashing around for an hour, it was so deep and dreamless, that waking up just felt like a daze. He couldn't bring himself to shed a tear, because there was no reality. It just hadn't hit him yet. It was like Blaine had gone into overdrive, shutting down before he could malfunction.

He couldn't fall back asleep once he was awake. He just wandered around in his haze, bumping into things and blocking out thought. He kept checking his phone, but he couldn't bring himself to call, just like he couldn't bring himself to cry. He was too numb for that, too afraid to hear what his voice sounded like so dead. Afraid for any part of him to be described as _dead. _Because it wasn't an exaggeration anymore. Dead was a fact.

He was leaving tomorrow anyways. Back to Lima, whether Kurt wanted him to or not. And Kurt would stay in New York, whether Blaine needed him or not. So much for apartment browsing, for dreamful wedding planning. He wasn't even auditioning for NYADA anymore. What was the point? What was the point of anything? He could just leave, buy a million liters of triple chocolate chunk ice cream and enjoy his last few months, or shorter, on his couch watching reruns of FRIENDS. Who needed a figure when they were dead, right? Why go to Glee Club if he would only end up in the audience? There was no point in even going to school at all. GPAs meant nothing, projects meant nothing. They were just trivial things he was supposed to do to get into college, which was something people only did to earn a career, which were designed for long-term lifestyles. Blaine couldn't afford long term anything, much less a life.

He spent the afternoon packing, trying not to think about anything at all. But his mind kept wandering back to what Kurt was doing and _how _Kurt was doing, but mostly who he was doing it with. He paced until he swore there were indents burned into the ground. He wondered if he should call or text, or try to find him. Health wise, Blaine was doing okay. It was a good day, one of the ones where he could breathe and not cough up a lung. But mentally? It was the worse he'd been in a long time.

The panic started to set in at around noon. Panic that Kurt would never come back. Panic that Kurt didn't love him anymore. _I knew it, _he just kept thinking, _this is why I can't tell people. They think differently of you. They stop loving you. They're too afraid to love a dying man. _

However, by one o clock the panic was replaced with sheer anger and agony searing through his veins.

"Fuck this!" He yelled, "Fuck everything!"

He threw things, broke things, things that weren't his to break. Like the picture of Mr. Hummel on the mantle, and the glass on the kitchen counter, and the wooden chair reduced to splinters as Blaine lunged it at the wall with a frightening amount of strength for someone whose body was betraying itself.

There was a knock on the door.

It wasn't the person Blaine needed to see.

Just a neighbor, complaining about ruckus, threatening to call the cops.

_Let them come, _He thought bitterly, _I've already got a death sentence looming over my head. What more could any fucking policeman do? _

He didn't eat that day. He didn't try to fall back asleep. Or distract himself with tv or books. He just yelled, and hit the wall with his fists, and then left himself alone in the quiet with his thoughts of destruction. He soaked in the loneliness of the empty rooms. _Get used to it, _he thought, the bitterness gone. _Get used to being alone. _And the worst part, was that he already had. He'd gotten used to the sinking feeling of no one and nothing the day Kurt left for New York. Only now he would have to rebuild that familiarity without the phone calls and the friends. This time he couldn't even rely on his own body.

He heard the door behind him click open, but he didn't turn around. It was late, now, nearing dinner time. He stared at the blank wall behind him, half praying it was a murderer entering the apartment intent on killing him, but knowing it was just his boyfriend. Probably _ex_ boyfriend.

"Hey," Kurts voice was soft and cautious in the darkening room. Blaine didn't respond. He didn't want to give him that satisfaction. It was stupid and selfish and wrong to give him the silent treatment, but Blaine needed to. He was so angry, so emotionally damaged…

"Blaine?" He felt a warm body slide in the spot next to him on the soft, blue denim couch, "Blaine, look at me." Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. He couldn't will his head to turn, he could dare look him in the eyes, "Look at me, dammit!"

The sudden change in volume made Blaine jump. Startled, his eyes flickered to Kurt's, his body subconsciously moving away from the rigged body next to him.

"No, no I'm sorry," Kurt's voice shook, the hand on Blaine's shoulder trembling against his skin, "Don't hate me, I'm sorry," When there was, again, no response he sighed and just kept talking, "It was so wrong. I know it was, but I was scared. Scared, and hurt because I didn't even hear it from you. I saw the words on the screen, and I just thought it was some sick joke you were pulling but then—" His words ended with a choking noise, and Blaine looked up to see his boyfriend's face crumpled in sobs.

"Kurt—" He didn't know what else to say, or how to say it. He didn't have a cure-all for sadness. No remedy for someone upset over something he could never control.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt pleaded, "I could have helped, I could have been there."

"I didn't want you to— I didn't want this. This right here. I didn't want to see you like this because of me. I didn't—"

"So you really were just going to wait around until you died. Can you even _comprehend _what the hell that would do to me?"

Blaine waited a moment before he answered. It was selfish and wrong, but he had a reason for it, for everything.

"At least I wouldn't have to be there to see it," he looked down, unable to meet the disgusted, heartbroken face staring him down. Kurt made a little choking noise, like he'd forgotten to breathe. Maybe he did.

"That's an awful thing to say. That you would be happy to be dead just so you wouldn't see someone get hurt." The amount of appall in his voice made Blaine shudder. All he could manage was a shrug.

"Who else knows?" Kurt asked, sounding more distant than before, but just as teary and broken.

"No one. But my doctor at least. I didn't call my parents… or my brother."

"New Directions?"

"No. They think I'm out with the flu."

"That's a horrible thing to tell them."

"It's the only thing that made sense to tell them."

"What about the truth?"

"Yeah, because that's done so much good," He rolled his eyes.

"How ca you be so _dismissive _about this?" Kurt snapped suddenly, "I'm a mess of tears and you're, you're just making smart ass comments! Why is that fucking okay? You should be sobbing and, and you should actually look around and give a[AV1] fuck that you're—"

"Dying?" Blaine finished bitterly, knowing Kurt would never be able to say it out loud, "Yeah, Kurt, I'm dying. That's what people do. They work hard, or they don't. They get married, or they don't. They're a girl or a guy or they're gender neutral. They have sex or they're virgins. They bite they're nails or they smoke cigarettes, but it doesn't matter because we all _die_ in the end, and my end is shorter than yours, but I can't change that. No one can change that. Not you or me or Mr. Shue or the president of the fucking United States. And maybe it's not like me to be so blunt, but I'm so sick of pretending. You wanted the truth, and that's the truth. I'm going to die."

Kurt was undone.

He broke down. He fell apart. Gagging on tears, and choking on his own misery. Misery, enough to fill the gap Blaine refused to show his own. Regret filled Blaine's stomach watching, but he couldn't take the words back. He couldn't undo what he said, and it was too late to calm him down. Tears poured down Kurt's red cheeks, his eyes screwed shut so tight, Blaine thought he would go blind. The noises he made were inhuman. Wailing and coughing, sounds undefinable. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

"Kurt, hey, just— just look at me," he softened his voice, trying to make up for his harsh words just a minute before.

"Don't _touch_ me." He gagged out.

"I didn't mean it… I just—"

He was cut off by more sobs.

"Kurt, please. This isn't… You aren't— I'm already…"

"What more could you possible say?" Kurt's breathing hitched, "What is so important that you can't let me grieve? Yeah, Blaine, grieve. Because, honestly, you're already dead."

"Kurt—"

"No, really. Congrats on telling me the truth, I guess I couldn't handle it. I don't think I want to hear any more. I don't think I can take anymore 'truth', okay?" He started to get up to walk away, but Blaine grabbed him as fast as he possibly could, pulling him back.

"I don't want to die." He whispered, so broken and soft he wasn't sure Kurt hear him.

But he felt the arms snake around his torso, Hands, pulling his head to his boyfriend's chest as he cried.

"I don't want to die."

* * *

_**review? please? no?**_


End file.
